Chapter 80: The Secret Commission

The feast raged on for hours, a tempest of primal energy that showed no signs of slowing down.

Arthur sat at the high table, a still and quiet anchor amidst a sea of roaring chaos. The Great Hall of the Beastkin Kingdom was an assault on the senses.

The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, heavy spices, and the sharp, metallic tang of unbridled mana.

Below them, massive bonfires cast flickering, elongated shadows against the cavern walls, illuminating the wild dances and drunken brawls that frequently broke out among the warriors.

He was not ignored. Far from it. As the night deepened and the ale flowed like water, the initial curiosity of the beastkin court shifted into something far more predatory.

A woman with the sleek, spotted ears and long tail of a snow leopard leaned across the heavy wooden table, her amber eyes locked onto Arthur’s with an intensity that bordered on feral. She wore a halter of woven crimson silk and dark leather that left very little to the imagination, her collarbones adorned with jagged, golden jewelry.

"You drink like a stone, human," she purred, her voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to resonate directly in Arthur’s chest. She pushed a freshly filled horn of dark ale toward him, her painted nails deliberately grazing the back of his knuckles. "I have watched you for two hours. Your heart rate hasn’t spiked once. Most men of the Academy would be sweating, flushing, or passed out beneath the table by now. Are all of Lily Nightshade’s pets so... cold?"

Arthur looked at the woman, his expression impassive. Deep within his mana pathways, the Lust Grimoire stirred. It was a subtle, pulsing warmth, reacting passively to the heavy, unfiltered desire radiating from the leopard-kin. The Grimoire hungered to latch onto that desire, to convert her raw, physical attraction into dense, usable mana.

He ruthlessly suppressed the urge, locking the Grimoire’s influence behind a wall of mental ice. He was not here to play games with the local nobility, nor did he want to complicate his unknown mission before it even began.

"I prefer to keep my wits about me," Arthur said smoothly, his voice a cool contrast to the sweltering heat of the hall. He did not pull his hand away, but he did not return her touch, letting his natural, freezing aura bleed just slightly into the space between them. "And I am no one’s pet."

The woman shivered as the ambient temperature around Arthur dropped. Instead of pulling back, her eyes dilated, the pupils shrinking into thin, vertical slits. The sheer, predatory confidence of his restraint only seemed to excite her further.

"Pity," she whispered, leaning closer, the scent of musky perfume and raw power washing over him. "I know several ways to melt that ice, Arthur Vance. If you find your chambers too lonely tonight, you only need to follow the scent of blood-lotus down the eastern corridor."

Before Arthur could formulate a polite but absolute rejection, a massive hand the size of a dinner plate slammed down onto the table between them, shattering the heavy wooden platter holding the roasted boar.

The leopard-kin woman flinched, her ears pinning back instantly as she scrambled away.

Gorgon leaned heavily over the table, a roaring laugh tearing from his throat. His golden-brown mane was wild, his chest heaving as he brandished a half-empty barrel of ale.

"Enough circling my guest, you scavengers!" Gorgon bellowed, his voice echoing over the din of the Great Hall and instantly silencing the immediate vicinity. "The boy is here on Academy business! If you drain the life out of him before dawn, Lily Nightshade will come back and turn my entire palace into a frozen wasteland! Give the human some air!"

The surrounding beastkin laughed uproariously, slamming their tankards on the tables in agreement, but they gave Arthur a wide berth after that. The King had subtly marked his territory; Arthur was under his direct protection.

Gorgon took another massive gulp from his barrel, wiped his mouth with his forearm, and then turned his head slightly toward Arthur.

The roaring, drunken king was gone in an instant.

In the fraction of a second when Gorgon’s face was hidden from the rest of the hall by the angle of his arm, his golden eyes locked onto Arthur’s. The sheer, crushing gravity in that gaze made the breath catch in Arthur’s throat. There was no warmth, no joy, and certainly no intoxication. The King’s eyes were ancient, sharp, and terribly lucid.

Gorgon gave a barely perceptible tilt of his head toward the dark archway situated behind the high throne.

Then, the mask snapped back into place. Gorgon slammed the barrel down, roared at a passing servant for more meat, and clapped the shoulder of a nearby bear-kin general.

Arthur understood immediately. The feast was a performance, a necessary display of strength and vitality to keep the kingdom satisfied. The real business was about to begin.

Arthur waited exactly four minutes, allowing the King’s attention to seemingly wander, before he quietly stood up. He moved with practiced silence, slipping away from the high table and fading into the shadows near the rear of the dais. He stepped through the heavy stone archway Gorgon had indicated.

The change in atmosphere was instantaneous.

The moment Arthur crossed the threshold, the deafening roar of the Great Hall was severed, replaced by a suffocating, absolute silence. The corridor ahead was carved from smooth, black obsidian, lit only by the dim, pulsing glow of warding runes etched into the floor and ceiling.

Arthur’s senses flared. The mana density here was staggering. His Frost Sovereign affinity recognized at least five overlapping, high-tier defensive arrays designed to instantly incinerate any unauthorized presence. He walked slowly, feeling the heavy, scrutinizing pressure of the wards scanning his mana signature. Only the lingering trace of Lily Nightshade’s teleportation magic on his coat seemed to act as a passkey, allowing him to proceed unharmed.

At the end of the long corridor stood a heavy ironwood door, bound in silver and iron. It was slightly ajar.

Arthur pushed it open and stepped inside.

It was a vast, circular study, lined with massive bookshelves holding ancient, crumbling tomes and scrolls bound in leather and bone. The center of the room was dominated by a large, circular stone table covered in tactical maps of the continent.

Standing by a towering window that overlooked the jagged peaks of the mountain range was Gorgon.

The King of the Beasts had his back turned, his massive hands resting on the stone sill. The boisterous, drunken aura he had projected in the Great Hall was completely gone. In the quiet solitude of his study, Gorgon looked every bit the weary, burdened monarch carrying the weight of an entire race on his broad shoulders.

"Close the door, Arthur," Gorgon rumbled, his voice low and vibrating with raw power. "And activate whatever privacy seals you possess. The walls here have ears, even with my wards."

Arthur silently closed the heavy door. He drew on the dark, shifting mana of his Dream Weaver affinity, weaving a localized, sound-dampening illusion field around the perimeter of the room. It was a subtle application of the magic he had copied from Iris, ensuring that even if someone bypassed the physical wards, they would only hear the ambient silence of an empty room.

"It is done," Arthur said quietly, stepping further into the room.

Gorgon turned around. He walked over to a small cabinet, bypassing the ale entirely, and poured two glasses of a clear, glowing amber liquid. He handed one to Arthur.

"Drink," Gorgon said, his tone commanding but tired. "It’s not the swill from the hall. It’s a distilled elven spirit. It clears the mind and settles the mana. You’ll need a clear head for what I am about to tell you."

Arthur accepted the glass and took a small sip. It burned like ice going down, instantly clearing the lingering haze of the banquet’s heavy atmosphere from his senses. His mind sharpened to a razor’s edge.

"Why am I here, Gorgon?" Arthur asked directly. There was no point in exchanging pleasantries in a room layered with this many secrets. "Headmistress Nightshade pulled me out of a mandatory academy deployment. She said a friend required assistance that involved abnormal Grimoire conditions and breaking the rules of normal engagement."

Gorgon let out a heavy sigh, pulling out a massive chair and sitting down heavily at the stone table. He gestured for Arthur to sit across from him.

"Lily Nightshade is a terrifying creature, but she is fiercely loyal to those who have bled beside her in the past," Gorgon began, staring into his amber glass. "During the recent invasion of your Academy—when the wards were breached and the skies turned black—the emergency bell was rung."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I remember the incident. The Headmistress was briefly absent from the battlefield."

"The bell is an ancient relic," Gorgon explained, his voice grim. "It is a localized beacon meant to signal an apocalyptic threat. It summons Lily Nightshade directly through a spatial tether, bypassing all known defensive wards. It is meant to be a last resort. But it wasn’t rung at the Academy, Arthur. It was rung here. In the heart of my capital."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly. He rapidly processed the tactical implications. "Someone tried to pull the Headmistress away from the Academy during the invasion to weaken the defenses?"

"That is what Lily assumed when she arrived in my courtyard, furious enough to freeze the blood in my veins," Gorgon said, his jaw tightening. "But she found no invading army here. No apocalyptic threat. She only found a terrified boy holding the bell in his hands. She spared his life only because I begged her, and because of the debts we share."

Gorgon looked up, his golden eyes flashing with a mix of fury and profound shame.

"The boy who rang the bell, who nearly brought the wrath of Lily Nightshade down upon my entire kingdom, was my son. Prince Kaelen."

The silence in the study grew heavy. Arthur took another slow sip of the elven spirit, analyzing the information.

"With respect, Your Majesty," Arthur said carefully. "Why would the Prince of the Beastkin Kingdom ring an emergency beacon tied to a human academy?"

Gorgon’s massive hands gripped the stone table, his knuckles turning white. The stone groaned under the pressure.

"Because my son is a fool," Gorgon spat, though the anger was laced with deep sorrow. "Kaelen is strong, physically. He possesses my blood, my vitality. But his mind... his mind is sheltered. I protected him too much. I kept him away from the bloody politics of the continent, away from the cruelty of the world. He is naive. He believes in honor, in noble causes, and in the inherent goodness of people."

Gorgon leaned forward, his aura flaring darkly. "Someone manipulated him, Arthur. Someone whispered poison into my son’s ear. They convinced him that a hidden rot was spreading through our kingdom, and that only by ringing that ancient bell could he ’save’ us. They used his naivety, his desperate desire to prove himself as a hero, to turn him into a pawn for their own grander scheme."

"The Equinox," Arthur stated quietly, the pieces clicking together in his mind. The dark organization had orchestrated the Academy invasion. Using the Beastkin Prince to pull Lily Nightshade away from the battlefield was exactly their brand of intricate, ruthless strategy.

Gorgon nodded grimly. "That is my suspicion. But I have no proof. And worse, I have no name."

"Have you asked him?" Arthur asked, his tone pragmatic.

"Of course I asked him!" Gorgon roared, slamming his fist onto the table, cracking the stone again. He closed his eyes, forcing his anger down, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I demanded the truth. I screamed it. But Kaelen... he is stubborn. He believes he is protecting a noble confidant. He believes he made a mistake in the execution, but that his ’friend’ who gave him the bell meant well. He refuses to give me a name. And I cannot torture my own son, Arthur. I cannot break his mind to extract the truth, or I will lose him forever. If I push him any harder, he will retreat further into his shell, or worse, try to run away to find this ’friend’ for validation."

Gorgon looked at Arthur, the desperate vulnerability of a father overriding the pride of a king.

"That is why you are here. My interrogators terrify him. My generals lecture him. I overwhelm him. But you... you are his age. You are an Academy student, a warrior who has seen real blood, real combat, but who does not carry the crest of my court."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, the parameters of the mission finally becoming crystal clear. "You want me to get close to him."

"I am officially assigning you as Prince Kaelen’s new sparring partner," Gorgon stated, his voice hardening back into the tone of a commanding monarch. "Your mission is simple. Fight him. Break through his arrogant, sheltered defenses. Show him the difference between the pampered sparring he does with my royal guards and the brutal reality of a true warrior."

Gorgon pointed a massive finger at Arthur. "Beat him until he respects you. Bond with him. Earn his friendship. Become the older brother figure he desperately wishes he had. And when his guard is down... when he finally trusts you more than the phantom who lied to him..."

"I extract the name of the traitor," Arthur finished smoothly, his mind already formulating a strategy.

"Yes," Gorgon breathed heavily. "Find out who used my bloodline as a pawn. Find out who is festering in the shadows of my kingdom. You have full autonomy, Arthur Vance. Do whatever you must to open his eyes to the real world."

Arthur considered the King for a long moment. He thought of his Lust Grimoire, of his Dream Weaver affinity, of the brutal, unapologetic methods he had used to survive the Academy and the dungeons.

"Full autonomy," Arthur repeated slowly, his eyes locking onto Gorgon’s. "I am not a babysitter, Gorgon. If I am to break his shell, my methods will not be gentle. I will show him the darkness of the world. I will drag him out of this pristine palace and show him things that will shatter his innocent worldview. He will bleed, and his pride will be completely broken before I build him back up."

Gorgon held Arthur’s gaze, the immense pressure of the Beast King bearing down on the young human. Arthur did not blink. He did not yield an inch of ground.

Slowly, the King’s face relaxed into a fierce, approving grin.

"Good," Gorgon rumbled. "I don’t want a babysitter. I want a crucible. Break his naivety, Arthur. But do not break his spirit permanently. Return my son to me as a man who knows the truth of the world, and I will owe you a debt that the Beastkin Kingdom will honor until the end of time."

Arthur finished the last drop of the elven spirit in his glass and set it down on the stone table with a quiet clink.

"Consider it done," Arthur said. "Introduce me to the Prince tomorrow. I will handle the rest."

The secret commission was set. Arthur stepped back out into the obsidian corridor, leaving the King to his burdens. As he walked toward his assigned quarters, his mana pulsed quietly. To catch a rat in the shadows, he first needed to mold the perfect bait. Tomorrow, he would introduce Prince Kaelen to a world of absolute, unapologetic violence.